


paint the walls a million colors

by saintjoy



Series: Historystuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Berlin Wall, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Incest, M/M, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintjoy/pseuds/saintjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every'un else has moved on. I lost my lil' sis behind that wall. You see me drippin' ma' tears everywhere and paintin' all a' this shit? No. She's moved on, too. If we come back together, that's damn great. But you can't go clingin' to the past and lettin' it determine your future." Regardless of her words, she dips her finger into one of your paint pots and draws a little face on the cement. "Yer lucky that the guards haven't downright killed ya for vandalism."<br/>"If they killed me, then they'd have to kill evw-veryone who created art. They're utilizing discretion, Meenah."<br/>"Discretion, my ass. They just pity you." You put down your brush and pick up a small can of spray paint. She scoots back and covers her mouth and nostrils. You inhale the fumes as you fill in the large area you had marked with black paint. "That's gonna kill you someday, inhalin' fumes like that."<br/>"If I v-wanted to kill myself, I v-wouldn't do it slowv-wly." You cock your head to face her, make a gun with your fingers and point at your temple. "Pow-v, just like that. V-would'vw-ve done it a long time ago."</p>
            </blockquote>





	paint the walls a million colors

_West Berlin, November 6th, 1989_

 

_"My only sunshine, you make me happy, when the skies are grey..."_

You wait for him to continue the song for you, quiet and under whispered breaths on the other side of the wall.

Like every other time, you find yourself singing the rest of the lyrics as you smother your brush in paint.

_"...You'll never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away."_

 

"Ampora, quit yer mumblin' t' yerself and clean the paint off your hands, my cod." You look over your shoulder and aim a languid grin at the woman standing behind you. "How old are ya, 13?"

"I could be anything you v-want me to be, baby," you reply, your speech impediment seeping through. "Still fretting ovw-ver me like a mother duckling?"

"There's not a week in the month where ya haven't spent at least three days sleepin' by this damn wall." She steps over to you and nudges your hip with her booted foot. "An' there ain't a day in the week where you haven't sung that damn song to yourself at least 50 times."

"'S stuck in my head, kitten." You raise your brush to the wall and spread the most familiar shade of violet over an outlined area. "Used to be his and my favw-vorite lullaby."

"Yeah, yeah, tell it to some'un who _hasn't_ heard that already." Like every other time, she sits down next to you and gazes up at your mural as she toys with the ends of her long braided hair. "Every'un else has moved on. I lost my lil' sis behind that wall. You see me drippin' ma' tears everywhere and paintin' all a' this shit? No. She's moved on, too. If we come back together, that's damn great. But you can't go clingin' to the past and lettin' it determine your future." Regardless of her words, she dips her finger into one of your paint pots and draws a little face on the cement. "Yer lucky that the guards haven't downright killed ya for vandalism."

"If they killed me, then they'd have to kill evw-veryone who created art. They're utilizing discretion, Meenah."

"Discretion, my ass. They just pity you." You put down your brush and pick up a small can of spray paint. She scoots back and covers her mouth and nostrils. You inhale the fumes as you fill in the large area you had marked with black paint. "That's gonna kill you someday, inhalin' fumes like that."

"If I v-wanted to kill myself, I v-wouldn't do it slowv-wly." You cock your head to face her, make a gun with your fingers and point at your temple. "Pow-v, just like that. V-would'vw-ve done it a long time ago." You shake the can and find it empty. You pick up your brush again and she shuffles back towards you, minding the dirt scuffing the seat of her pants as much as you do.

"You wanna know what I think?" You don't respond. She continues. "I think the wall's gonna come right down soon."

"They said that August 20th, 1961, too. And August 27th, 1961. And September 3rd, 1961. And every v-week for 28 years." You lick your lips. "That's a thousand four hundred fifty-six times."

"Can do that kinda math that fast an' you're wastin' your life sittin' at this wall feelin' sorry for yerself."

"Not v-wasting it. I'm making art."

"If the wall's ever torn down yer art'll be broken to pieces."

"If the v-wall's ever torn dowv-wn I won't havw-ve a reason to keep it."

"Why did ya never go to a speech therapist, hm?" You don't answer in favor of drowning yourself in the bright colors of the paint smeared on the endless canvas before you. She sighs and rises from her seat. "Havin' fish tonight for dinner. Old Mama'd be happy to see ya."

"Thanks for the invw-vite, but I think if you really v-want me ovw-ver there you're gonna havw-ve to offer me a little something more. I'm kind of a big deal, got a lot on my plate, yeah?" You manage a chuckle when she clocks you in the head with the back of her hand.

"Yeah, okay." Her steps retreat and you feel the wind shift as her presence leaves you. You look up at the mural on the wall above you. You wager it might be another 3 days before it'll be finished. Your brush drops into a pot as your mind wanders to fantasies of him being the first to climb over the wall; you standing at the bottom looking up, him standing at the top looking down, your roles entirely switched down to the expressions on your faces. Eridan would cry first, because if you cried first he would break his ankles trying to get down fast enough. He'd fall into your arms and sob like a little kid and rewet the paint that has dried onto your skin for 28 years, and watching him weep would make your eyes sting enough that thick tears would fall onto his hair that he's dyed for as long as you could remember. You touch your lips in that faint remembrance of how his tasted, and how he would attack you with a ferocity that would knock the both of you into the dirt and soil your clothes.

 

You find yourself kissing the image of him you spent years perfecting from your memory. You sputter and spit into the dirt. The sun was still high in the sky. It was going to be a long day.

 

_"The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms..."_

_"... You make me happy, when the skies are grey, you'll never know dear, how much I love you."_

"Those aren't the words, you dumbass."

"Shut up, Cro."


End file.
